Blog 10: Busselton Ironman 2013

BLOG 10 - BUSSELTON

Eventually, the completion of the 2013 blogs. It has been nice to have had positive feedback, not only from a surprising number of people, but from a wide range, many who have no interest in triathlon, and actually asking if I was doing another blog.

Blog 10 is now finally submitted following a request to do a write-up for the annual North Coast newsletter. Sorry Michelle, but 300 words . . . no chance! The edited version can be seen in the newsletter, but now the rest is down on the computer I can upload the more indulgent version.

BUSSELTON IRONMAN, DECEMBER, 2013

My 4th Ironman in less than 6 months! Despite less than impressive performances so far, Gilly Chutrau informed me that I was in the Top 1% of all international Ironmen. With athletes’ best 3 races counting, a strong race in Busselton would put me inside the 2013 Top 20. Surely, that is an achievement worth striving for.

Or is it? From the perspective of a normal human being, is being in the top 1% of self-obsessed, pro-athlete wannabes, with skewed priorities, and more money than sense, really something to shout about?   Furthermore, just how many other people are daft enough to do 3 Ironman races, or more, in a year?

Forgetting these questionable personality traits, just how good is the Busselton Ironman? A truly magnificent location, excellent host town, impeccable organisation, and this year, for the first time in a while, moderate temperatures with not much wind. Perfect!

The iconic jetty swim has to be one of the best on the global calendar. Clear water all the way, and incident free. I was surprised and delighted to see I had done a 1'13" PB. A mere 20-odd minutes behind Blake Kappler, and a massive 35 minutes quicker than the swim I did in Zurich 4 months earlier. Thanks to Arron Robertson, Paul (Swim Smooth) Newsome, and Matt.

Smooth ride

A typical, leisurely 7 minutes in T1, and then out on the bike to try and achieve my only real goal of the race - a sub-5 hour bike ride. The limiting factor is usually my back. Spasms practically destroyed my Kona race, and my riding is always compromised to some degree, leaving me apprehensive. Tightness and pain in the car on the way down was not a promising sign. Yet, on race day, amazingly, for the first time ever, no back issues at all.

Easily distracted! Losing concentration on the last lap.
Photo courtesy of Dennis Tan

Not much to write about really. It was all rather nice for most of the day. The uneventful swim, was followed by a steady ride. The Power Meter, which moderated the effort, made things easier. Well into the final 60km things were still good, and the 4 hour, 59 minute bike split could be achievable. Losing 

concentration for a few km, and with it some momentum, I slipped off the pace. Consequently, the last 7 or 8km had to be done with much more effort than I have ever used in my 12 previous Ironman races. With 2km it was going to be down to the wire. The last kilometre was a sprint. I had absolutely no concern regarding the impact this silly, unsustainable effort would have on the subsequent run. I had been nursing a hamstring injury, so was not confident of a sub-4 hour marathon. Hence, the only thing I was bothered about was a decent bike split. After taking chances on the last few corners I stopped the computer at 4 hours, 59 minutes and a few seconds. Brilliant! 

Except, as I was gutted to discover later, it wasn’t! Well, not according to the WTC. Their timing mats are a few metres before/after the mount/dismount area where I started and stopped my computers. So, sadly, my official bike-split was a few seconds over 5 hours. Well, bollocks to that! Discounting the Gold All World Athlete Status WTC marketing bullshit, I don’t have any triathlon achievements to shout about, so I was, most certainly, claiming this one. Using indisputable supporting evidence and data from the US GPS system, Sputnik, my two Garmins, and Strava, the fact is I did, indeed, cycle just over 180 km, or 112 miles, in less than 5 hours, at an average speed of 36 kph and won’t be letting anyone state otherwise, thank you!

After doing a bit of stretching it was almost 5 minutes in T2. Starting the marathon is always a great unknown. You are never really sure how the legs will function until you have run a few metres, regardless of how you feel at the end of the ride. How would the legs be today, after the foolish effort just done? Weird! They felt better than they had ever done at this stage of the race. For me, the four 10.5 km laps help psychologically. The thought of a 42.1 km marathon with an already fatigued body can be a mental burden. But forgetting the kilometres, and thinking of it in terms of “just” 4 laps, easy! For some reason, on this particular day, it actually felt quite pleasant.

It is hard to explain how this can be possible, but probably has something to do with the magical Ironman vibe of Busselton, and the amazing volunteers who make it all happen. On the run, in particular, the support was fantastic and uplifting. The Tri Clubs provided a real boost. As usual The North Coast area was particularly impressive - noisy and encouraging, with huge numbers spurring us all on.

Loud and proud

The Exceed Tri Club was prominent too. In addition to their visible and vocal support on the bike leg, which broke the monotony of the forest, Exceed were also loud and proud on the run. Their sledging was original, and witty, led by Rod Marton and Meredith Douglas. I had the pleasure of being an Iron Spectator alongside Meredith a few years ago, and was entertained by her humorous observations regarding packages and appendages. Remembering this, as I ran past, I was thankful that Busselton is not cold in December.

Not far into the second lap things took a sudden turn for the worse.  Feeling good, I foolishly upped the pace, even doing a couple of sub 5-min kilometres. Relaxed, in the zone, fantastic. Until, suddenly, the inevitable happened. Ping! Hamstring! Shit! Was I prepared to walk for a few hours just to get a medal and finishers towel? Time to come up with a Plan B.

This was to try out the methods of the “Doctor of Weird Shit” (which incidentally also carried Chris Balde to an impressive sub-11 race following injury). I spent a few minutes putting the good Doctor's somewhat less orthodox advice into practice, had a couple of salt sticks, then started striding for a few metres. There was still pain and tightness, but it was manageable. Then slowly into the Ironman shuffle, with quick, short steps. All this happened at the Aid Station just west of the crowds and jetty. I got strange looks as I bent over to stretch, and then start rubbing my leg with one hand, whilst placing the thumb of my other hand on the roof of my mouth. Well, whatever works, and don't knock it till you try it. Eh Chris.

So, things were OK for now, but how long until it went completely? It ended up being a strange run. Having to jog slowly to protect the injury, it was the easiest marathon I have ever done. Just increasing the stride length slightly sent sharp warnings to my brain to desist. I can't remember ever doing a marathon where I did not have to fight the urge to walk. But on this day, not even that. It was stressful though, because there was a constant fear that the next stride could be the last, and the hamstring would say no more. But of course, this is the same for so many athletes on the run leg, as the fatigue sets in and body salts get depleted.

The last lap was actually enjoyable. I was beginning to realise that even if I had to slow down, or worse, forced to walk, I could still complete the run in less than 4 hours, and, amazingly, achieve something that was not even on the radar: a sub-10'30" Ironman. In fact, it ended up being 10'17". A PB by around half an hour! Who would have thought it? I certainly didn't.

Hills ride: Bill's squad getting the foundation winter miles in
before the real training begins

My time does need some perspective though: number 13 was, by far, the easiest Ironman I have ever done. The conditions were absolutely perfect, and there were some amazing times from fellow athletes and North Coasters.

Blake Kappler went sub-10 after waiting at the side of the road forever to have his bike mended. Without the tyre issue, what could have been? There was also a great comeback by Nino Fabris. Despite throwing himself on the floor during the bike leg, at great speed, Nino only just missed the 10-hour mark. All those training rides past the Gravity Centre, yet Nino chose this day to challenge its laws.

After the arrival, in September, of their daughter, Mikey McConnell had to forfeit the opportunity to take on the world in Hawaii. It was especially good to see him at the pointy end of the field again, finishing with a time in the low nine hours. Brilliant! More importantly, Mikey claimed his second, elusive Kona spot, which, all being well, he can use to fulfill his dream, and potential, later in 2014 with his new family alongside.

Gilly and Billy 

And then there was Mr Guillermo Chutrau! None of this: "I can't do the Aquathon/10k/Hills Ride/have a few drinks in the pub” nonsense, because “it is not in my program". Gilly just does it all, does it exceptionally well, and continues to smash PB after PB, whether in a triathlon, a running race, or a Time Trial (averaging over 40kph at Champion Lakes). He has also qualified for two world championships: the 70.3 in Quebec, and a few weeks later, Kona. Gilly’s time here? I can't remember exactly, except that it started with a 9! Enough said! (9’44” actually).

I think all of Bill Whalley's core IM squad had strong races, and got their just rewards for following the grumpy guru's words of wisdom. Regarding Mr Whalley, with whom I have had the dubious pleasure of training and racing with for more than 15 years, this was the first time I have actually managed to beat him. But I will say no more about that. Yeh, right! 

Billy and Gilly

Bill’s Military Road intervals were particularly important sessions, and enjoyable too, in good company, with a number of quality riders: Mikey McConnell, Gilly Chutrau, Nino Fabris, Dale Harrison, Lindsay Bennett, etc. It’s always nice to have a few good train drivers to shelter a lazy rider like me from the homeward bound ride into the inevitable headwind. Excuses because of my age didn’t seem to impress them (well, Billy was also there), but they tolerated my slackness all the same. Thanks guys. Also present, getting stronger and quicker by the week were Anna Woodhouse, Fiona Longden, Judy Whelan and several others who had massive bike PBs on the day. 

Don't understand those on Bill's squad who bailed out of these rides, and chose the “easy” option of a Freeway ride, just to write 180 in the training log (must be darts fans). Seems like strange logic when there is the opportunity to be guided by a 3-time Kona qualifier for a “proper” structured, yet social, six hour session. Just look at the results: Bill’s regular Military Road group had several riders around or below the 5-hour mark on the bike leg. And that is just a small part of the picture: how many then got off their bikes strong enough to run comfortable sub-4 marathons? Too many to mention (sorry). Fiona Longden was well under, and didn’t feel the need to fill our screens with previously consumed nutrition, this year. Even more impressive was Dale Harrison’s 3’11” marathon.

Not exactly sure what Bill's time was (around the 10'30" I think). Sadly, this put him just one place short of a Kona slot (subsequently, Bill did eventually earn a trip to Hawaii in the Melbourne Ironman in March. Congratulations!). Incidentally, my age group rolled down to 5th for Kona. The guy who was initially awarded 6th, after finishing just in front of me, was removed from the results (I think he only did 3 laps on the run). So it turns out I also missed out by just one place. Bugger!

I have assured Julie that I am not entering any IM in 2014, but have already paid my deposit for what many professional athletes consider to be their favourite – Roth, Germany - in July, 2015. 

Busselton was a great place to finish for a while. The organisation, the whole vibe, the magic of the finish line, especially after dark as the clock runs down. A shame many miss seeing the gutsy battlers who provide the true inspiration. This is the real essence of Ironman, and I recommend everyone witness the emotional climax of this magnificent event.

But how did the Global World Ironman points finish up?

Yes, I did finish in the 2013 Top 1% and also the Top 20. I can't quite get my head around this. So many are stronger, fitter, quicker, younger and more motivated than me. I can only put it down to the bizarre conventional wisdom followed by so many Ironman athletes: i.e. spend 6 months in a progressively worse state of sleep depravation and chronic fatigue, training yourself to go slower, and get to the start line totally buggered. As I said, bizarre! I get chronic fatigue just from reading about the so-called "easy" weeks.

To celebrate this most unlikely of achievements came the promise of a prestigious, worthy prize from the WTC. But, what would represent the achievement of being at the pinnacle of this massive global franchise with more than 100,000 participants? 

Kona 2014 entry? No! Priority WTC race entry? No!  WTC discount? Don't be silly.

It was, in fact . . . a gold coloured luggage tag!

Not even sure it would make it into Darryl Kerrigan’s Pool Room.

Blog 3a: Ironman Nice 2013 You Tube

Blog 9: Mandurah 70.3

November 10, 2013

Mandurah Half Ironman

Was actually looking forward to this race. It is now 4 weeks after Kona, and I seem to have eventually recovered from the worst case of man flu in recorded history. Since being back, have done some decent rides, but have needed lots of rest to recover from them.

The first weekend of November was the first weekend since 4 weeks before Kona that I managed to complete what was in the diary, without illness, problem, or life, getting in the way. On Saturday, November 2, I rode 170km, setting off north, with the JCC boys, then linking up with Billy's Ironman group. My logic here is that no matter how hard I go in a race, it will never be as hard as the first hour with JCC, and hence have the psychological advantage of knowing no matter how uncomfortable I am I won't; blow up - and, more importantly, be able to get off the bike and do a decent run. In a headwind they average over 40kph along Yanchep Old Road, with a tailwind they typically average mid to high 40s kph. When the JCC group turn south on Wanneroo Road at Yanchep National Park, I turn north so that I can do the extra kilometres, and meet Bill's group 10km or so up the road. With an easy 10km recovery after the early morning excesses, I can then do the intervals at a decent level with Gilly, Nino, et al. Following this ride, I complained incessantly about feeling knackered, fatigued, tired, stiff, etc; then, somehow, the following day forced myself to get out of bed on a windy, horrible morning, and turn up to do the ATTA Champion Lakes time trial. Somehow, I managed a 40kph+ PB.

Upon arriving at this Champion Lakes time trial, the first person to talk to me was Matt Illingworth, who had just completed his ride, and offered the following inspirational words: "Put your bike back in the car and go home, it's f'-in' 'orible out there;  dangerous too, blowin' a gale". Incidentally, though not as quick as his previous ride there, he had just put down the winning time, by a considerable margin, averaging over 47kph!

So perhaps I could manage the Mandurah 70.3 after all. Up until this point, a week out from the race, I was not sure whether I should do it. Doing Kona, and being ill had really knocked me about and thought that, ideally, perhaps I needed a bit more rest. However, joining up with Billy's Ironman rides, and feeling OK, then being able to produce some decent watts for a TT, suddenly I started to feel better.

After failing in all my other goals this year, I might eventually get the opportunity to achieve a target time , albeit a modest one of sub-5 hours. The downhill swim may have had something to do with that though. On the bike, it was a real privilege, first, to be lapped by the leading pros who set off much earlier, and being able to sit 12m off the back of them and keep up for the 25km or so of the remainder of the lap back into town. Several months later, on a flight back to Perth from Auckland, it was a bit weird seeing myself on the in-flight entertainment, as the Asia Pacific 70.3 was one of the options. From the aerial shots of the bike leg, the commentator was puzzled as to who the ninth rider at the back eight-man leading group might be.

Coming out of T2 was a struggle, with sore back and tight legs, but slowly I loosened up to do a modest, but steady run. More importantly, it was with great relief, that apart from the odd twinge my back was OK. Though the run was slow, it is always nice to do a negative split.

Funny old world though! Following Kona, I have had to listen to numerous ignoramuses telling me how "easy" this year's Hawaiian IM was. OK the crosswinds weren't blowing as usual at Hawi, and it wasn't as hot as it can be. However, the average temperature on the bike was still 32.9C, with a high of 36, and 90% humidity! Not to mention a block headwind that came in at 135km and had me pedalling over 200W downhill!

Consequently, it was with some bemusement, as I listened to the same people who were insistent in letting me know how "easy" Kona was, now telling me how terrible the conditions were at this year's Mandurah Half. Compared to Kona and Zurich, it was actually very pleasant!

Above all,  what this race again re-enforced, was what a fantastic environment WA is blessed with, for hosting large scale triathlons. Truly magnificent!

Though I do not agree with Hawaii IM spots being given out 70.3 races (I have to admit that I would be the first one to grab a spot if I could), it was really good to see so many friends and training partners picking up Kona spots and 70.3 World Champion Spots in Quebec, next year, following some very impressive performances.

For the record, this was the first race of the year I managed to beat my modest target time.

Blog 11: The Cape Epic

Western Cape, South Africa, March, 2012

THE CAPE EPIC

The 2014 edition of Cape Epic is now underway. Inspired by the Facebook updates of one of this year’s participants, Nigel Adcock, one of my Indian Ocean Adventure racing mates, I now feel the urge to upload this blog, which I drafted, but did not complete, after my own adventures there back in 2012, with Nigel Wake. Didn't know how to blog then. Still not too sure now. Hence the outdated, irrelevant Kona headline.

Nigel Adcock (left) about to start the 2014 Cape Epic
with South African partner Mark Oliver

At the time Nigel (Adcock) and Pete Gill also uploaded a couple of posts re the 2012 Epic, which were entertaining and witty, so I thought mine would be a poor imitation. However, after my recent Ironman postings through 2013, I thought I might as well just add this to my blog collection regardless. 

A problem then, as now, is how can you describe the Cape Epic and really do it justice. Sadly, the best I could come up with was to describe every aspect of the event, as indeed, truly . . . erm . . . Epic! Never has anything been more appropriately named.

Obviously, I need professional help, so will shamelessly plagiarise the award winning South African sports writer, and 2012 competitor, Kevin McClean, who blogged: “There are no words. There is no reason, no rhyme, nor sense to be made of the maelstrom that is my head as I write this. I’m still struggling to take it in. But there is an acronym that works: WTF.”

For those who don’t know, the Cape Epic is an 8-day mountain bike race held in South Africa’s Western Cape region. It is regarded by many, including the winners of the multi-day stage races, the Crocodile Trophy and the Trans-Alp, as the toughest mountain bike stage-race on the calendar. There are only 4 UCI races rated HC (Hors Category – beyond categorization). They are: the Tour de Fance, the Giro, the Vuelta, and yes, the Cape Epic. Of those, the Epic is the only one “normal” people can enter – if you are lucky – as the Epic is even more difficult to enter than the most popular Ironman events, not counting Kona of course. It is on Lance Armstrong’s list of iconic endurance events, with Kona, and amongst the reasons he is desperate to reduce his life-time ban.

Tent city. Would Lance stay in these, or a luxury
motorhome? F1 Champion, Alain Prost roughed
it with the rest of us.

 The 2012 race was around 800km, with over 16,000m of climbing (two ascents of Mt Everest ), and was described by Dr. Evil, the route designer, as the most challenging yet, in its 9-year history. This was confirmed by the medical team, which had its busiest race to date, despite the competitors being better prepared then ever. The no excuse, ruthless cut-off times add to the brutality of the event.

Most of the stages are between 100-150km. That does not seem so far, until you consider the average speed off-road is generally less than half of what you would normally average on the road. Translating those distances equates around 250-300 road kilometres daily.

For those who have done the Cape to Cape, in south-west WA, imagine doing three (or 4) of those stages in one day, every day, for a week, on more challenging terrain, and then throw in an extra several thousand metres of climbing.

To further compound this overwhelming challenge, the first couple of days saw temperatures shift from one extreme to the other: the mid 40sC for the first couple of days, followed by cold, wet weather 3 days later which had the medics at full stretch treating the hypothermia cases.

The event is competed as a team of two. To be awarded your finisher’s medal you must stay with your partner at all times.  I was fortunate to be asked, by Nigel Wake, a North Coast Tri Club foundation member, to be his partner for the race.  

Nigel Wake and I about to leave the very top of Oz and cross
Cape York peninsula, to Normanton. There, after "just"
1,500km I left Nigel to complete the remaining 4,000km
back to Perth, solo. This confirmed our compatibility
 to take on the Cape Epic.

Since packing in triathlon Nigel has had a few truly epic adventures, of his own, including cycling from Perth to London, taking many months; and even more demanding, cycling more than 5,000km across the dirt roads, tracks and deserts of northern Australia from Cape York, to Perth, via Australia’s most westerly point, Steep Point. Both journeys were unsupported.

CHALLENGING STAGES

Yet, despite Nigel’s mammoth rides in the past, and the wide variety of challenges and hardships along the way, including frozen desert plateaus, hot deserts, the Himalayas, etc, Nigel declared, at the end of a particularly demanding and traumatic stage 3 (150km with more than 3,000 metres of climbing, which took over 11 hours to complete), this was now his worst day on a bike – ever!

Stage 4 should have been (relatively) easy. Unfortunately, the weather gods thought we were getting it too easy, so they turned on a 60kph block headwind. The last 30kms became a major challenge, not helped by a puncture, as we chased the daily cut-off time. Nigel’s post-stage assessment: a new worst day on a bike - ever!

Until stage 5. This is when it got particularly uncomfortable and demanding. We woke up to cold, heavy rain, and were faced with a day of incessant mud and borderline hypothermia - a long, hard, relentless 10 hour, 59 minute slog. After a very stressful last few hours we beat the cut-off by less than one-minute. As the camaraderie builds through the event, it was sad to witness that many of the people we had been riding with earlier in the day did not meet the deadline, and those finishing just a few minutes after us, eliminated. Brutal!

Our new camp, which would normally be thought of as being situated in paradise, was now, on this most miserable of days, a cold, inhospitable, wet, mud-bath – and that was inside the tents.

Due to the conditions, Shimano’s share price rocketed during this stage, as 10s of thousands of dollars worth of competitor’s high-end group-sets were now ground to oblivion by the mud. Very few had working brakes, many replacing pads out on course. Severe chain suck was also par for the day, which resulted in quite a few broken rear derailleurs. I was forced to spend most of the stage in the big ring, not ideal with well over 2000m of climbing. After the stage I needed to get a new chain, brake pads, rear cluster and front chain rings. So did hundreds of others. I eventually found someone who had the spares, and time, to fix my bike at 10.30p.m. By 11.30p.m., I managed to borrow a credit card that worked. My bike was eventually fixed just after 1a.m. Not good, considering the camp was awakened each morning at 5a.m. by a Scottish piper. And still a couple of stages to go – including the longest, highest climb of the race.

A STUNNING EVENT

So, was it really that hard?  Well, there were many challenges along the way, the inevitable emotional highs and lows, and moments of despair, stress and extreme discomfort. Overall though, it was an exceptional privilege to be able to participate in such a magnificent environment, and share this experience with Nigel.

For me, being slightly fitter than my partner, who did not have the opportunity, or time, to reach the levels of fitness he is capable, made it easier, as I could ride for most of the day below threshold. I imagine it would be a nightmare to feel obliged to push yourself so hard for a week in order to keep up with a stronger, more competitive, team-mate.

Over the 8-days we commented that it felt like we could have been riding the most scenic of Europe’s high mountain regions, at other times it was reminiscent of the northern English National Parks. Elsewhere we could have been in the Kimberly or Cape York. Some of the single track was straight out of the SW of WA. Yet all was within the unique, magnificent landscape of South Africa’s Western Cape region.

The camp locations and scenery along the way were stunning. The support, and good will, from the marshals, volunteers, everyone at the camp, and the locals from the rural townships was amazing. In fact the townships turned out to be a surprising highlight of the event.

The food, both at the camps, and at the three service stops each day was plentiful, varied and of good quality. The camaraderie that builds over several days was also such a special feature, amongst the 48 nationalities that entered that year.

Having been fortunate enough to compete in a number of big events around the world, in a variety of different sports, including Kona, and an event even more demanding than that – the Australian Safari (an 8-day motor-sport desert race) I have to say that the Cape Epic, despite its logistical challenges, is unquestionably, the most impressively organised event I have ever done, and would recommend it to anyone of reasonable fitness, mental strength and decent riding skills. Most normal people would probably consider it expensive, however for those who have paid WTC Ironman entry fees the Epic is an absolute bargain.

RACE PREPARATION?

Those of you who know me, and my somewhat less than dedicated approach to training for events, will not be surprised to hear that I did not prepare specifically for this race.  Apart from spending 4 days on the Munda Bidi trail about a month before going to South Africa, since the Cape to Cape in October, 2011, you could count the number of times I rode my MTB on one hand.

Having said that, I believe I was better prepared for this event than any of the other things I have done – not so much through specific training, but by doing something significant every couple of months or so leading up to it, since the previous August. Also helpful is that on the 3 regular training rides I do each week I am in good company with guys who win local and national road races and time trials, so my base fitness for cycling is usually respectable.

Between August 2011 and the Epic in March, 2012, I competed in the Collie Donnybrook road race (7^th); UCI World age-group road race in Belgium; the Collie Adventure race; the Yorkshire 3 Peaks cyclo-cross; I managed 28km of stage 1 in the Cape to Cape before crashing out and leaving the event in an ambulance; then there was the Bussleton Ironman in December and the Darlington Half Marathon in earlier in March.

This is in contrast to my race partner Nigel, who, in the previous 10 months completed the SW of WA Cape to Cape on foot, then the demanding Coast to Coast walk across the hills of northern England, and then the Cape to Cape MTB in October. Unfortunately, he then had to undergo a hernia operation in November.  Inevitably, this had a serious impact on his preparation. His training could not start in earnest until the end of January. This explains why, physically, and psychologically it was quite a bit more of a challenge for Nigel than me. It could also be said that he is no spring chicken. But then again, neither am I. In fact our combined age for the event was 105!

Stunning drive south of Cape Town

HIGHLIGHTS

Cape Town

The fantastic organization

The volunteers, marshals, staff, etc, everywhere

The magnificent scenery and camp locations

The variety of the route: some technical, single track and a nice variety of stunning, scenic open trails

The massive challenge, tough but achievable

Cruising in an open-top Mini Cooper S down one of the most scenic drives I have ever done, from Cape Town to the Cape of Good Hope

SADDLE-SORE?

My main concern pre-event was the inevitability of getting a chaffed backside.  Previously, my long rides, or multi-day rides have been affected by a bad case of  nappy rash, resulting in something akin to the arse of a baboon. I even had a picture of a baboon’s rear end to post on FB after day 3 or 4, to illustrate my anticipated suffering. Miraculously, however, considering I have never ridden all day, every day, for so many days I got zero chaffing, or saddle discomfort at all. Amazing!

The solution can be attributed to a combination of: Giordana bib shorts, plenty of Assos arse cream, and the Fizik Gobi saddle.

AGAIN?

So, would we do it again? Nigel was absolutely adamant that the box was ticked and he could not think of a reason on earth why he would ever subject himself to such an ordeal again. This was re-enforced several times.

I would love to do it again, but without the back pain which is becoming a constant companion whenever I ride my mountain bike – the legacy of a motorbike racing (speedway) accident in 1983.

The post-script here is that I received a phone call, just two weeks after getting home. Can you guess who was asking if I wanted to do the Cape Epic with him again the following year? My answer (to be honest it was Julie’s) was thanks but no thanks.

(Editor’s note: Julie has just proof-read this and insisted that she would not stop me doing stuff and never said that. To be honest, she did not actually say that. She didn’t have to. The “look” said it all).

Nigel did indeed return in 2013, much fitter, and with a new partner, North Coast Triathlete, Geoff Todd. Sadly, Nigel crashed out on day 4. He wanted to continue, but was forced to seek off-site medical help by the officials, after knocking himself out and injuring his shoulder.

I recently got a phone call from Nigel. I assumed it was not to go for a coffee at Mullaloo. I was right. “How do you fancy riding your mountain bike across Mongolia in 2015?”

I like the idea, but not too sure I am up for the reality. Actually, I am already otherwise committed, to compete in the Irondistance Roth race in Germany, in July, 2015.

Anyway, back to 2014, and I wish the very best of luck to the other Nigel – Nigel Adcock, who is currently in South Africa competing in the 2014 Cape Epic.

Have a look on line – it is a tremendous event and well worth a Google!

Blog 8a: Kona - What really happened!

Kona Here We Come: Blog 8: So what happened?

Kona Here We Come: Blog 8: So what happened?: "You ARE An Eye-Ron Man" The Big Day So what happened? Well Julie had a fantastic day. She had the good fortune of sp...

Blog 8: So what happened?

In the words of Mike Reilly
"You ARE An I-Ron Man"

The Big Day - KONA

Ironman World Championship

October 12, 2013

So what happened?

Well Julie had a fantastic day. She had the good fortune of spectating with the Blatchfords, on what turned out to be such an amazing day for them. Julie walked down to the swim start with Ann. Mike, meanwhile, conscious of the fact that being an Iron Spectator is a demanding endurance event in its own right, was conserving his efforts. He reckons he can pick out Liz from more than two thousand swimmers, and from a distance of two nautical miles, so watched the swim from the comfort of their accommodation, quite close to the turnaround buoys. Having a daughter that swims at the front of the pack does make her somewhat easier to spot than most.

Spending time with the Blatchfords, Julie was able to follow what was going on at the front of the race. They had a well-founded optimism that Liz was a genuine contender, as she went on to prove with a stunning performance.

Unfortunately for Julie, and me, she had a much longer wait at the finish than Mike and Ann. More than 3 hours longer!

Yet it all started so well. The three key early morning ingredients all ticked off: porridge, beetroot juice, and a rewarding trip to the bathroom. As an added bonus, we were not sharing a house, or hotel, with fellow triathletes, who typically emit excessive nervous energy, and can't help but insist on waking everyone up around them as they consume their 3 a.m. breakfasts. So I even managed a couple of hours extra sleep.

The race did not start until 7, so the plan was to get there just before 6, on the shuttle. Except the shuttle service did not run as scheduled, and the bus that did come drove past without stopping. A 3km run/walk, in thongs, to the start area is not found in any "Performance Tips for Race Day" literature. It wasn't too bad though. There were lots of others making their way down Ali'i Drive to the start, and it was a very nice atmosphere.

A couple of weeks earlier I had watched the DVD from the previous year's race, and, in the comfort of my own home felt exceptionally nervous, particularly as they showed all the athletes getting ready in the atmospheric, pre-dawn light.

On the day though, no butterflies, and I was actually looking forward to the challenge of the notorious, legendary Kona conditions. It was helpful having absolutely zero aspirations regarding a finishing time, or age-group position. This was about enjoying the whole experience. Despite arriving in Kona with a very serious case of man flu, which had lingered somewhat and settled on my chest, I honestly believed I was fit, healthy, and ready – not for a particularly impressive time, but a solid respectable day.

The location, the anticipation, the vibe was incredible. 

Entering the ocean alongside me was Nera (Jareb), who was looking relaxed and ready to race. We wished each other well, and went our separate ways – a bit of natural selection - as she needed to be at the pointy end of the field. Nera went on to have a great race, despite a few issues, in a touch over 10 hours finishing with a classy 3'21 marathon.

The swim here is stunning. Crystal-clear water, reef, and amazing variety of vivid marine life below us. What a place to find myself: the location, the anticipation, the tension, the cannon, the carnage!

The swim starts in particular can be dangerous. Previously, competitors have had their races seriously affected, or even curtailed, as flailing arms, and feet cause damage on impact. This was a concern.

After my atrocious swim in Switzerland (1'47"!!!) I have probably worked harder on this leg than at any other time, and have managed to get lap times down to around 50 seconds. Hence, I thought it was a reasonable expectation to come in around 1'15". Wrong again.

How good is that? Why the rush?

Though I was honest and modest about "self-seeding", when the cannon eventually signalled the start, there was still more contact than I was comfortable with, and at one stage had my goggles kicked off. As a contact lens wearer this can be a problem but OK this time. I felt I had a decent swim, but with some of the unwanted contact did lose rhythm and momentum a few times. I also got in a group that was probably a bit too comfortable.

As I got back to the beach my watch indicated a disappointing, 1'23. Despite swimming reasonably straight, the Garmin had me down for a 4.3km swim.

Those extra few minutes in the water were to have a disproportionately negative effect on the bike leg later in the day, as many of the quicker athletes managed to miss the worst of the strengthening head wind on the Queen K, back into town (confirmed by Power Meter and TrainingPeaks data).

Running through T1 was when my body first announced that it wasn’t entirely happy about doing an Ironman today. My hamstrings and calves were too tight. It felt like I had to walk/stride, rather than run to prevent pulling a calf. And my chest felt as tight as my calves, as I had a couple of coughing attacks.

Still, in my head I was good to go, as having a few issues is normal. I knew what I had to do, and was ready to do it. I felt relaxed and, for now, it felt easy. But, even relaxed, the tension was building through my lower back. Of all my bikes the TT bike is usually the most sympathetic to my back, though the aggressive aero position can aggravate a neck problem. Even the comfy leather seats of the Volvo or Saab can trigger lower back spasms at times. On any bike, even my motorbike, I can be compromised to some degree, but not usually so early in proceedings. This was not a good sign.

Inevitably, I picked up a few injuries from my speedway riding days. It was an accident at Belle Vue speedway, back in 1983, that was, once again, coming back to haunt me. Since then there have been occasions when I do have difficulty getting dressed in a morning. Usually though, it is generally manageable by being pro-active - thanks to Freddie Cappon (Chiro), Matt Tribble (Next Move Physio), and Eve O'Hare (massage), but sometimes, without warning, or for any obvious reason, it flares up. Being on a different part of the planet than the aforementioned three obviously doesn't help.

Nice fast bike - shame about the rider. Through
the lava fields on the Queen K

It was an easy ride along the Queen K through the lava fields, soft-pedalling with a tail-wind. Surely, on the long steady climb to Hawi the cross-winds would come and test us. Yet, even here, nothing. At this stage it was looking like a relatively easy low 5 hour bike ride.

Watching the pros come down from Hawi was interesting. They looked quick and appropriately spaced out. Luke McKenzie was one of the more noticeable in his distinctive kit. He looked fantastic on the bike. We had seen him a few times out on the Queen K during the previous week or so, training, absolutely flying, millimetres behind a motor-bike, being paced, at average speeds up to 60kph. He was rewarded with a podium finish today.

And now for the grumpy old man bit, the most disillusioning discovery on Kona . . .

A few kms after the pros, the elite age-groupers started coming through. Now, you can accuse me of being bitter, or perhaps it was a serious case of peleton envy, but . . . I appreciate that due to the benign conditions, and such high numbers of athletes at a relatively similar level all starting the bike leg around the same time, it is almost impossible to avoid being in that draft zone, and many are trying to do the right thing – BUT – far too many were in the draft zone, closer to 7 inches than 7 metres. I have never seen as many riders protected from the elements, in the cocoon of a peleton, in a (supposedly) none-drafting triathlon before. Any cost benefit analyses would surely evaluate that all that saved energy would far outweigh the impact of a 4-minute sin bin penalty. What kind of deterrent is that? Especially when looking back after the race, and Strava confirmed that many who had much better bike splits than me, had averaged watts less than me.

A week or so previously, following a flying Liz Blatchford and her partner Glen, we experienced the full force of the Hawi winds. Kona regulars Dave and Michelle Boyes were also out there, and later described it as a one of the toughest days they had experienced, so it was a relief to have a less challenging day now. The problem was, that despite pushing watts well below threshold, this ride was degenerating into one of the most difficult and most painful I have ever done. The tightening in my back was getting worse, and even maintaining this less than modest effort was proving too much.

Not much fun now!
Why did I not stop and move
that seat back up?

In fact the pain was getting so bad that I made a silly decision. Probably the worst decision I have made in a race. At the Hawi turnaround I decided to stop and utilise the tools they had available at the aid stations to lower my seat. I was hoping that if I varied my position, the spasms in my back might become more manageable. The plan was to drop just less than one centimetre. Unfortunately, just as I had loosened the bolts I had a bit of a coughing fit and lost the mark on the seat post. It turned out that I ended up dropping it around 3cm (but did not know this until I came to pack my bike in its box to come home). The result. Well my back was no better, but now my knees were also complaining. I wasn't stopping again though - another mistake.

Despite my difficulties, I was encouraged by the fact that I have struggled many times before with similar issues on the bike, sometimes struggling to bend and reach my feet to change shoes in T2, yet have usually loosened up after a km or so on the run to finish strongly. I was still foolishly optimistic that a 4-hour marathon might be possible.

Though feeling far from my best it was a nice, but very slow, run out of T2 into town. So many people, such a great atmosphere. The conditions were humid and warm, but for Kona, actually quite good, and not really a concern at all.

(After having so many people over the past couple of weeks telling me how "easy" Kona was this year, I feel the need to put this into context. An "easy" Kona still had an average temperature of 32.9C, with a maximum of 36C, combined with oppressive humidity; and though the cross winds were largely absent there were strong headwinds later in the day. It took nearly 2 hours, pushing almost 200 watts, to do the last 45km).

Doing it tough on Ali'i Drive

Despite being able to enjoy and appreciate being at Kona, and running alongside the Pacific Ocean on Ali'i Drive; rather than loosening up, things were actually going from bad to worse. I was getting even tighter, and slower. 

I could not help but recall the words of Matt Burton, commentating at last year's Mandurah Half IM: "Illingworth runs like a man who has just been shot in the back."

It was an amusing analogy then (though not for Matt Illingworth), but not now. This summed up how I was feeling perfectly.

For years I found that all I had to do was just keep running, and I would do a sub-4 hour marathon. This is no longer true. However, I still believed all I had to do was run all the way and I would finish the run under 4 and a half, and this would bring me home in just under 12 hours. That’ll do. 

Not today! I couldn't even do that. Yes, I was still running, but I am not sure how much I was challenging the definition of the word run. Shuffle would perhaps be a more accurate description.

Apart from the occasional aid station, and toilet stops/issues, I have not previously walked in Ironman races, and feel this is quite an achievement. The infamous Natural Energy Lab would test this resolve. 

It takes forever to get there, and then you know you have got to run all that way back the last 14 kms or so. By now I was in agony with back spasms. Thankfully, it was here I met my Angel of Mercy, Nathalie Laurendau. She had been well in front of me all day. A good swimmer, elite cyclist and strong runner – normally. But Nat has had a plantar fasciitis injury for the past few weeks and unable to run. She managed almost half the run until, inevitably, it flared again. She was walking. For someone of her ability and competitive nature this was emotional, and challenging, but she was determined to get to the end. When I eventually caught and overtook Nat I had not recognised her and she shouted to me. We had a quick chat, got the violins out, and shared sob stories.

The Ironman was not the only reason Nat was in Kona. As a Chiropractor, she had also been to a Professional Development Conference on soft tissue injuries, with a focus on trigger release techniques. Luckily for me, Nat suggested she could apply her new skills to my deteriorating situation. This was an amazing gesture, but very painful. Most people in the extended vicinity realised this from the noises I was making.

Slowly things eased. Nat got me to bend forward from the waist. I was genuinely concerned I would not be able to straighten up again. As I leaned forward, with Nat standing behind me, she worked on the trigger points, in my lower back, gluteus and hips. This prompted more involuntary grunts and groans.

If there was a gender reversal in our respective positions, we could very well have been arrested. As it was we were attracting inquisitive stares, and even witty comments from fellow athletes about inappropriate social activity.

The result was quite remarkable as eventually, the intolerable pain was transferred into ecstatic relief. What involuntary noises was I supposed to make? Was I still sore and tight?  Of course I was. But what had been unbearable and excruciating, was now manageable. 

Got there - eventually

Importantly, I could now run without feeling that a calf or hamstring or disc was going to explode at any second. I will be forever grateful to Natalie for those moments, her skills, and time, which enabled me to savour and enjoy the end of this iconic race, and special place.

For the last few miles I was running with a glowing ring.

Thankfully, unlike Ironman France, back in June, this was not due to an upset stomach and excessive use of harsh toilet paper.

On this occasion the glowing ring was issued when it started to get dark, to keep us visible, and safe, on the suddenly pitch-black Queen K, heading back towards town.

Running towards the finish, the atmosphere and crowd were amazing. I just wish, that after emerging from the dark, my eyes had adjusted to the very bright lights, and I had been able to spot Julie in the crowd, to share this magical, emotional experience with her, as I ran into the finishing chute.

I also felt guilty at abandoning Natalie at the Natural Energy Lab. It was a special moment to meet Nat just after she finished, express my gratitude for what she had done, and share in our achievement of getting to one of the most iconic finish lines in global sport, after we both endured such adversity to get there.

It was a hard day, much harder than it should have been given the conditions for most of the day. It was  frustrating having to take so long (12'27"), and do my worst ever marathon by far, which took almost 5 hours. But then, the time was never really supposed to be factor. I just wish I could have got round without as much pain and discomfort. Having said that, I suppose overcoming adversity is a key aspect of getting fulfilment from dong an Ironman.

Massive waterfalls and
hidden valleys from a
Big Island helicopter

The following day I was not feeling fantastic. My back had eased somewhat, but I had been kidding myself about not being sick. After most Ironman races I would consider myself to be a genuine contender for the following day's Beer Mile. Not this time! It felt like an invisible elephant had settled on my chest. However, we were booked for one of the sensational tourist helicopter rides around the Big Island - over volcanoes, lava, massive cliffs, and in valleys of towering waterfalls. This was another once in a lifetime experience.

Upon returning back to the apartment we were then treated to another magical moment. We had a knock on the door from Mike and Ann Blatchford, with beers in hand, still up in the clouds, to share their joy of Liz's truly remarkable performance. A very special memory indeed. If ever something was so richly deserved, this was it.

For a family that has contributed so much, for so long, to the remarkable success of the WA Triathlon community, this is fantastic. It has been uplifting to see their recent rewards: Ann with her World Championship Bronze in London; and now Liz, forcing her way onto the podium of THE most prestigious, one-day, iconic endurance event on the planet. Brilliant!

Julie got fed up with
me being sick so went
to Five 0 HQ in search
 of Alex O'Loughlin

The next couple of days were not good for me. The elephant on my chest seemed to be joined by its mother. And despite the perfect tropical temperature on Hawaii, I was either freezing, or roasting. This was supposed to be when we got to relax, unwind and celebrate, but Julie had to leave me in the room whilst she explored our magnificent new surroundings close to Waikiki Beach. Still, I did get a couple of days well enough to appreciate this new slice of Hawaiian paradise.

So what's next? Prior to Kona I was already entered in the Cape to Cape 4-day Mountain Bike race. I was hoping to do this as recovery and just enjoy the SW. It is a fantastic event, spectacular location, with some of the world's best riders at the pointy end of the field, and some raw, not particularly fit novices at the other. Most of the tracks they use are not too challenging and really enjoyable, with every day being quite different in character. The race is as hard, or easy as you want to make it. The relatively short stages also leave plenty of time to enjoy what the region has to offer - last year over the 4-day stage race I put on 3kg. Definitely a highlight on the WA sporting calendar.

However, daughter Rebecca has booked her one-way flight to Canada this weekend, as she embarks on her six-month working stint at the Whistler Ski resort, so have decided to stay at home, not do any of the stages, and forfeit yet another significant entry fee. This probably works out for the best for my back, and health wise, as this bronchial thing is still around, so probably shouldn't be riding anyway.

Waikiki Beach

Hopefully, over the next few days I can start a bit of gentle training again. It is only a couple of weeks until the Mandurah Half, and 4 weeks after that Busselton IM, both of which I am entered in.

At this stage, the plan is to start both races, but, if there are any issues in either, I hope to be mentally strong enough to pull the pin, and save it for another day.

It would be nice to do at least one race this year at a level somewhere close to what I feel I am capable, which I believe is a low 5-hour bike ride followed by sub-4 hour marathon.

I have failed to hit any of my targets this year. Might as well aim for another two.

And next year?

The focal point in the diary for 2014, in November, is to do the New York Marathon alongside Julie, for which we have already got confirmed entries. This has been Julie's long-time ambition, to coincide her marathon debut and 50th birthday. It will be my first pure marathon since 1982, when the orthopaedic surgeon, mending my broken leg (another speedway accident), informed me that I would not be doing the following year's London Marathon, for which I had just got an elusive entry, nor was it likely that I would be able to do any others in the future.

As for Ironman, won't be entering any next year. Would like to do a few halves though.